


little room.

by katarama



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4293993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles isn’t Lydia, but Allison decides it shouldn’t be too terrible of a year, roommate-wise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	little room.

**Author's Note:**

> Completed for the tumblr prompt, "Things you said at the kitchen table."
> 
> Enjoy!

No one ever eats at the kitchen table in Stiles and Allison’s tiny college apartment.

Neither of them is actually in the apartment much during the week.  Allison is already stretched thin just two months into the school year, juggling her course load with her Argent duties and the school’s archery club.  She doesn’t see Stiles around much during the week because Stiles would never leave Lydia and Scott’s place except to go to class if Lydia hadn’t put her foot down.  Stiles and Lydia are friends these days, but there are only so many mysterious Cheetos stains on the carpet that Lydia could tolerate before she put some restrictions on Stiles visits.

So it isn’t irregular for them to grab something to go from the fridge or to pack a sandwich for lunch and grab dinner in the student center.

 

* * *

 

But even though they frequently miss each other going in and out a lot, it isn’t like Stiles and Allison aren’t close.  Both of them belonging to the Scott’s Best Friends and Also Exes club means they’ve seen each other a lot over the years.  Stiles helped Allison through the adventures of Hide Scott from the Argents, and Stiles can crack jokes about how Scott’s earnest even in bed and Allison gets  _exactly_  what he means.  If that isn’t worthy of being labelled friendship, Allison doesn’t know what is.

They work surprisingly well as roommates, too.  Neither of them was really the other’s first option.  Scott and Stiles had been planning to room together since before sophomore year of high school, when Scott figured out what he wanted to do and settled on a dream school, and Stiles decided he was gonna follow Scott wherever he went.  

Allison didn’t even have a clue of what she was going to do in terms of income when she decided on a school; maybe she hadn’t been let in on some hunter secret, but she was pretty sure being matriarch of the Argent clan did not grant automatic cash flow.  She knows she has to figure something out before too long.  

But when Lydia said, “Come with me, we can be roommates!” early junior year, Allison hadn’t batted an eye before agreeing.

Then Scott and Lydia started dating senior year, and Allison knew things were going to change.  Even Stiles, Mr. Cling To The Vision, could see that things were shifting and had begrudgingly agreed to relinquish Scott as a roommate and to room with Allison instead.  He drove over to her house to fill out the housing application and the roommate compatibility forms without complaint, and he went over the lease with her and their dads with minimal fidgeting. 

In practice, it really isn’t too terrible living with Stiles.  Stiles is messy, but as long as he keeps it contained to his own bedroom and doesn’t make the apartment smell, Allison doesn’t care.  Neither of them throws parties or invites strangers over for sex very often, and, aside from Stiles’ tendency to drink all the milk at odd hours and put it back in the fridge nearly empty, Allison can’t really find any flaws with the arrangement.   She’s never heard him jerking off, never has to harass him to get his rent in on time, and only occasionally has to deal with him coming in drunk and noisy at 3 AM, so she figures so far she’s had it pretty easy.  

Stiles isn’t Lydia, but Allison decides it shouldn’t be too terrible of a year, roommate-wise.

 

* * *

 

The thing is, though, that Stiles constantly surprises Allison.

Stiles drags himself out of bed early for his 8:30 TTh classes, which are the only days Allison allows herself to sleep in.  Her classes aren’t until the afternoon, so she sets her alarm for 9:00 and goes easy on her workouts. 

One morning, Stiles sleeps through not one, but four alarms, so Allison is woken up an hour and a half before when she set her alarm and has no hope of going back to sleep.  

Lydia corners Stiles and tells him that under no circumstances is he allowed to wake Allison up early on Tuesday or Thursday mornings.  It isn’t that big of a deal to Allison, but she knows that Lydia’s more worried than she needs to be about Allison’s stress levels.  If scaring Stiles a little bit makes Lydia feel more in control, Allison isn’t going to challenge her.

Stiles never says anything to Allison about it.  But that Thursday, when Allison wanders into the kitchen, there’s a giant double chocolate chip muffin sitting on the kitchen counter with a post-it stuck to the wrapper, “happy sleeping in,” scrawled in nearly illegible handwriting.

Tuesday, there’s a raspberry scone and a doodle of a sleeping stick figure.

It brightens Allison’s morning.

(She thinks he might have cheated and asked Lydia what her favorite baked goods are, because he follows that up with a cinnamon roll from her favorite bakery in the area, but she doesn’t want to make him skittish or discourage him by asking about it.)

 

* * *

 

The baked goods aren’t even the best part of sharing an apartment with Stiles, though.  

She’d heard mixed reviews on Stiles’ being a good judge of character, but no one could ever claim that Stiles wasn’t observant.  He’d used it to his advantage back when he was obsessing over Lydia in early high school, and it made him feel entitled to something in return.  It is a dark period that no one likes to talk about, especially Stiles himself.  

It turns out that he’s learned to use it for good, though, and that it’s a great quality to have in a roommate.  

The thing is, Allison’s not too far from home, but it’s obvious that her dad wants her closer.  She can rattle off instructions remotely, but her father tells her often that there are leadership skills she can only develop through experience.  She told her dad that she wants to continue her responsibilities from school, and she was serious about it.  But the pressure of making decisions and the strain of being away from home weigh heavily on her.  She’s used to moving from place to place, but she’s not used to not having the strong support network of her family.

Her memories are all laced with something uglier these days, but sometimes she misses her mom and her Aunt Kate so much it physically hurts.  They weren’t always right, but they were always firm and confident, and Allison doesn’t know how they managed it.

Something unexpected comes up, and Allison’s dad calls to consult her.  Allison knows that she’s young, and her dad has so much more experience.  He knows what should be done, better than anyone else, and he’s only consulting her because he wants the other hunters to start seeing her as a leader, as someone that has to be respected and consulted before important decisions are made.  But Allison still has to excuse herself from class, because it’s a pressing issue.  Someone’s hurt, badly.  Her decision isn’t life or death.  If she were physically there for it, she would probably be fine, asking questions and working things through.  But the call catches her by surprise, and Allison waffles.

She makes what her dad seems to think is the right call, but it takes her longer than it should, and it leaves her uncertain and shaken.  

The entire way home from class, she’s thinking about it, and it takes her two tries to get the key in the lock.  She realizes when she gets inside that she didn’t need to unlock it in the first place, because Stiles is sitting on the couch, watching TV.

Stiles glances up and sees the hunch of her shoulders and pulls out his phone.  “Takeout tonight?” he asks, and Allison could cry with relief.

They finish off a large pizza on the floor of their living room, the TV still going in the background.  Stiles rambles until Allison can feel the tension in her body start to ease.

He tells her not to worry about paying for her share of the food.

 

* * *

 

The kitchen table is tiny.

It came with the apartment, and neither of them really has the extra funds to splash out on a bigger, better one, in spite of the pursed lips they always get from Lydia.  They don’t really have company over that frequently, anyway.  Pack meetings are always at Scott and Lydia’s, or occasionally at Jackson and Danny’s, if Jackson in a cooperative mood.  Danny and Jackson’s place is the most spacious, but Jackson hates having pack meetings there, because then his apartment smells like other people for days afterwards.

The kitchen table has four chairs that come with it, but in terms of plate and knee space, it really only comfortably fits two.

The table is very strategically placed so it gets the best lighting of anywhere in their dank, cheap apartment.  Stiles tried doing homework there for the first week or two of school, but he learned quickly that the chairs were too uncomfortable for him to sit still for long, and he migrated back to his nest of papers on the floor of his bedroom.  The table just sits there, sad and small and unused.

Until the longest night of the semester, that is.

 

* * *

 

Allison charges through her classes, setting the curve on the midterm for her French history course and working with Lydia to make a solid A- on her calculus midterm.  Things are going better with her dad, too, she thinks.  He gives her his “are you sure that’s what you wanna do?” look over Skype less frequently, at least.

Stiles is helping a lot.  He’s always good for secret junk food stashes and shitty cult films on Netflix, but it also turns out he’s just as good of a person to talk to as Lydia when it comes to crises about not being in control.  She has never been more grateful for a group of friends she could openly talk to about all of her hunter stuff, either; choosing to room with Stiles instead of going for a randomly assorted roommate was the best decision she ever made.  

So she’s feeling pretty good about herself.  She’s figuring out this college thing and she’s starting to learn how to schedule and balance and prioritize.  She has people who make time for her, and, more importantly, who make her make time for herself.

So, naturally, something has to go wrong.

 

* * *

 

She’s walking home at night after working out in the campus sports center.  The wind is blowing and the sky is dark, like things are gearing up for a storm.  It’s the kind of weather that always makes Stiles run a mile a minute, which Allison can understand.  It sends her instincts on overdrive, because the air feels electrified, like something important is about to happen.  

It feels even heavier that night, the back of her neck prickling like she’s being watched.

She’s learned not to discount her instincts, and she knows it’s better to be safe than sorry, so she fumbles for the zipper of her workout bag as she walks to grab her Chinese ring daggers, just in case.  

By the time she has them gripped firmly in her hands, she’s surrounded.

There are four dark figures.  None of them speak.  She can see their outlines from the faint, distant lamplight, but it’s hard to make out specifics when the moon’s covered by clouds.  They move quickly, pressing in on her, and she only has time for blind instinct, dropping her bag to the ground and striking out to cut flesh with her knives.  It doesn’t slow them down.

She knows she’s outnumbered, and she doesn’t even know what they are.  They aren’t human, but their speed doesn’t match Scott or Derek or Jackson.  She just doesn’t have enough information.  Allison weighs her options; she has wolfsbane in her bag, a stronger concentration of the kind Lydia used back at the party, so it shouldn’t just affect werewolves.  If nothing else, it should throw them off, having it blown at them.  It should give her time to run. 

Taking the time to reach down and grab the bag and get the wolfsbane out of the outer zipper of her bag would be an easy distraction that would give them time to do... whatever it is that they want to do to her.

Allison knows she won’t make it out alive if she stays to fight, though, so she makes a split-second decision.  She lunges for the bag, regretting it almost instantly when she feels the press of claws along her side through her thin black tanktop, digging into her skin.  She uses one of her daggers to slice a hole through the lining of her bag and she grabs the wolfsbane, opening it and extending her arm and throwing it towards them.  The wind swirls, flecks of purple shimmering in the faint light of the lamp.

The effect is almost instantaneous.  They all halt, one swaying and another staggering to the ground.  Allison grabs her split bag and bolts while she can, the motion tugging at the cuts on her side.  She can feel how wet her tank is around the cut, and she knows she’s bleeding, but she pushes through the pain.  She puts her hand on her side to try to assess the damage, but when she pulls her hand up to look at it, she sees not only blood covering her palm, but flecks of purple.

“Shit,” she says, and she immediately reaches for her phone, thanking god for Siri as she calls up Stiles.

“I need you,” she says as soon as he picks up.  “On the way to the sports center, now.”

She hears the dial tone as a hazy figure with red hair approaches.

 

* * *

 

“It’s not real,” a voice says, shaking Allison’s shoulder.  Allison can’t see anything, her vision blurred with tears and her body shaking.  “ _Allison_ ,” the voice repeats, “ _it’s not real_.”  She frantically swings her arms blindly to get the threat away from her.

She hears swearing, but her head is lifted, and she blinks, tears spilling down her cheeks.  Her vision clears a little, and everything starts to come back into focus.

It’s Stiles.

“Hey, we’ve gotta get you out of here,” Stiles says urgently, his right cheek bright red.  Allison wonders distantly if she did that.  She probably did.

Stiles is pulling her to her feet and wrapping an arm around her, swearing again when his hand touches blood on her side.  He wraps her arm around his side, instead, telling her to cling tight as drags her along, supporting most of her weight.

 

* * *

 

When they get back to the apartment, Stiles immediately sets her down in one of the swivel chairs at the kitchen table.

“Stay,” he says, and she snorts weakly.  Stiles runs to get the first aid kit, and Allison strips her top off so Stiles doesn’t have to.

When Stiles sets the first aid kit, the antiseptic, and a handful of clean rags down on the table, Allison reaches over, but Stiles stops her hand.

“I’ve got this,” he says seriously.

Allison actually takes a good look at him for the first time that night.  He’s only wearing boxers and a t-shirt, and his hair is rumpled and messy.  Allison glances at the clock and realizes it’s late, later than she realized.  Stiles must’ve been asleep when she called.

Later on she might find it funny that he sprinted across campus in his boxers to get her.  Right now, it makes her insides warm that he was that worried about her.

"Scott would be better at this,” Stiles admits as he blots at her wound with an antiseptic-covered rag.  “You can take a glance at it and we can call him if you want, but I don’t think it’s that deep.  Or at least, not deep enough that we’re gonna have to take you to the hospital or take out a needle and thread or anything, I don’t think I could handle that.  The needle thing, you know, I’m not-”

“It’s fine,” Allison says.  “Just clean out the wolfsbane and bandage it up.”

Stiles takes his time.  He seems a bit frustrated with himself, but his hands are as steady as Allison has ever seen them, and he tries to be gentle.  They sit in silence until he finishes.

“But this should be okay for the night,” Stiles says, walking over to wash his hands and running one absently through his hair, still wet.  “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

"I don’t know what they were, but there were four of them.  I used wolfsbane, but...”

"We don’t have to worry about you sprouting fur overnight, do we?” Stiles asks warily, “because I don’t think your dad would be thrilled if you ran off to college to be with the pack and then, surprise!  His daughter and the leader of a hunting network is a werewolf.”

"It wasn’t a werewolf,” Allison says.  “They aren’t in the bestiary at all.  I’ll let Scott check things out and I’ll call my dad in the morning, but the wolfsbane did worse than they did.”

Stiles finally sits down at the table, taking the chair across the table from her.  He reaches out and slips his hand into hers, squeezing gently.  Allison can’t help but smile, even though she’s exhausted, physically and emotionally.  The small comfort is more than she could’ve asked for, but Stiles knew it was just what she needed.

“Thank you,” Allison tells him quietly.  “I love you.”

Stiles squeezes her hand gently.  “I love you, too,” he tells her.  “Come on, we should get you to sleep.”

 

* * *

 

They spend the night curled up together on the living room floor, piled on top of layers of sleeping bags and comforters.  Allison feels comfortable and safe nuzzled up to Stiles.

Rooming with him was a good decision after all.

 


End file.
